


when the fire dies, darkened skies

by londoneyedgirl



Series: stories inspired by [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (it's implied), (sort of), Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londoneyedgirl/pseuds/londoneyedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s pretty late, and if he were a normal person, he’d be asleep; and If it were a normal night, he’d be out in the streets, incapacitating a common criminal, or on the roof of a random building, hearing out for a person in need. He’s not a normal person, though, and it’s not a normal night, and so he’s home, awake as the clock strikes four on the floor, sipping tea out of his cup as he sits cross-legged on the counter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the fire dies, darkened skies

**Author's Note:**

> okay! i've never read the comics - only a few punisher ones, but it's been a while. this is strictly mcu!frankmatt, i mean, i thought of them while writing. the frank here is not as harsh as the comics, most likely. i don't know.  
> anyway, i can't write angst for shit, still haven't got enough of a hang on the characters to write a more serious piece, but i wanted to write them so much. also, i love gen, some implied relationship, but not made explicit with mouth-to-mouth kisses and sex and stuff. i mean, those r good stuff too, but. i'm a sap. sorry lmao  
> so, if they're ooc, pls tell me. i need to work on my writing, and on my learning of characters as well, so. also, hope you like it!  
> title's from sia's "fire meet gasoline"

It’s pretty late - or early; depends from which side you’re looking. The city is never completely quiet, noise settling for only a couple of dozen people walking around town at late hours, and from that, the noise will only increase back again, when underpaid overworkers wake up just as the light begin to creep through windows, weak, so light Matt can barely feel it on his skin when he stands near the living room’s window.

It’s pretty late, and if he were a normal person, he’d be asleep; and If it were a normal night, he’d be out in the streets, incapacitating a common criminal, or on the roof of a random building, hearing out for a person in need. He’s not a normal person, and it’s not a normal night, and so he’s home, awake as the clock strikes four on the floor, sipping tea out of his cup as he sits cross-legged on the counter.

Yeah, usually Matt would be out in the streets, fighting muggers and other kinds of criminals of Hell’s Kitchen; however, since he sprained his ankle, he was thoroughly convinced - read: forced - to stay home. The thought of how scared criminals have been since The Punisher’s been proved to be alive and kicking, has Matt both relieved and a little jealous, he admits, but he knows he’s got his fair share of intimidation, so he doesn’t bother much. The night’s been quiet, too; he heard a bit of fighting, a few shots of The Punisher’s Colt, winced at them, but he’d long come to peace with the fact that that’s how Frank works. Besides, he knows this time it was self-defense.

It’s only a couple of minutes past four when the kitchen window is pushed up. Matt always keeps it unnoticeably open on nights like these, when he stays in, for one sole purpose. A broad man slips inside, stumbling only slightly before standing straight and closing the window, now locking it up.

“Couldn’t you use the door?” Matt asks, voice amused from where he sits, head tilting to the side in a curious fashion. He hears Frank shuffle on his feet, knows from the sound of his jacket moving that he just shrugged.

“Doors are overrated.” Frank grunts, huffing, but there’s the humorous tone that once he’d work hard to cover, but now he barely tries. It’s easy for Matt to wait for Frank to speak if and when he feels like it, while the man shrugs off his jacket and steps off of his boots. It’s also easy for Matt to smell the blood.

He focuses a little bit, and just leaning forward slightly has Frank mutter “I’m not hurt.”

Matt raises his eyebrow.

“I’m not dead.”

One corner of Matt’s lips curl upwards, victorious.

“That’s more like it.”

Sliding off the counter, Matt walks softly to where Frank’s sitting on the couch, carefully avoiding the boots Frank always forgets to leave it out of the way, and pushing it to the side with his good foot. He stops just between Frank’s open legs, hands still wrapped around his cup of tea, and lets his weight lie more on the good leg, using the slightly injured one just for balance. Matt’s sleepy, will probably fall into bed soon enough, but he still worries.

He nudges Frank’s knee with his own. “You should take some aspirin for the pounding on your head.” A few seconds pass, and when he realizes Frank’s not gonna answer - and makes sure he’s still awake -, he shrugs. “Well, if you want me to stitch the eyebrow of yours, you should get up now. I won’t be awake in a few, and you know you’d rather I’d stitch you up than you do it yourself.”

Matt doesn’t wait around for Frank to follow; instead, he goes to the bathroom, where he keeps his first-aid kit. It’s just like every other night. Frank comes in right after, and that’s something that happens constantly, whether they’ve both been out or not. Mostly Frank just comes to get patched up, and then he leaves. Matt likes the other nights, though. Nights like these, where he’s taken his boots off, made himself at home. Nights - or days, really, it’s past four in the morning - where he stays.

Frank leans back against the bathroom sink, not really seeming to mind the way the borders probably dig onto his lower back. He’s relaxed, as relaxed as he can be - Matt can feel it when he places a hand on the place where neck meets shoulder, and there’s no tense muscle there. At times, Matt finds himself amazed that they’ve come so far, that Frank allows himself this sort of vulnerability in front of Matt.

Stitching the split eyebrow is quick, and as soon as he finishes, Matt can feel his bones a little bit too heavy. He’s usually a little more resilient, but his cases of insomnia have gotten worse lately, and after forcing too much right after spraining his ankle he’s gotten extra pain, so when it’s been quite a while since he’s slept, fatigue has been getting to him faster and easier than usual. He doesn’t mind, though. After not being able to sleep, crashing feels good.

“Good?” He asks Frank, stiffling a yawn with the back of his hand. Frank only hums back, one of his hands brushing Matt’s sides, currently covered in a pajama shirt. He leans into the touch unconsciously. “I’m gonna go to bed. You coming with me?”

This time, Frank straightens up, only slightly taller than Matt, and presses his lips Matt’s temple for a couple of seconds. When Frank answers, his lips are still pressed to the other man’s skin, his breath warm and gentle and _calm_. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”


End file.
